Life Hacks from the Martial Arts...

My Budoby Fredrick Lovret

Editor’s Note — Fredrick John Lovret, the person responsible (at great personal sacrifice) for the successful transplant of the Itto Tenshin-ryu and Yamate-ryu from Japan to the United States, passed from this world in May 2015. His students are his legacy, and — collectively — they are determined to preserve and propagate the arts he bequeathed them. This essay was originally published in Budo Shinbun and is reprinted here by permission of Taseki Holdings LLC, in memory of Lovret Sensei.

Semantics is a very tricky subject: although communication is supposed to solve problems, it often creates them. Consider the word bujutsu...

Bujutsu as Culture The majority of people who study a classical bujutsu in Japan regard their art as a national cultural asset. They study it, not in any particular effort to learn the way of war, but as an attempt to preserve an important piece of their cultural heritage. In this regard, they are much like the people who reenact famous Revolutionary War battles every year in the United States. These people aren’t real soldiers; they are just actors demonstrating what war was like 240 years ago. Students who take such an approach to bujutsu tend to be mostly concerned with lineage and tradition. They go to extraordinary lengths to preserve their art exactly as it was done by the founder and draw great satisfaction from being a part of something that is, in effect, timeless. There is nothing wrong with this approach, although I find it somewhat strange that so many Westerners take so much interest in preserving Japanese culture and have so little interest in preserving their own cultural heritage.

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— Why Budo? —

Regardless of the times you live in, or the

circumstances of your life, success largely depends on

things you actually can control:

• Building strong relationships in a

community of achievement.

• Forging a disciplined and positive mindset.

• Enhancing your physical health and capabilities.

These are exactly the things membership in a

dojo provides.

Copyright 2018 Itten Dojo, Inc.701 W Simpson Street, Suite CMechanicsburg, PA 17055-3716

www.ittendojo.org

Sword and SpiritThe eNewsletter of Itten Dojo May 2018

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The only problem with this group is that they, almost universally, take the attitude that anyone purporting to teach a traditional martial art must share their own views. In this respect they have many of the characteristics of a small, and rather myopic, religious sect. (I.e., “Our group is the only TRUE bujutsu.”) It is interesting to observe that the close-mindedness of the bujutsu-as-culture group is usually in inverse propor-tion to their rank. Bujutsu as Combat Diametrically opposed to the cultural group are the combat types. These people study a traditional art because it has not been watered down for the masses. Although it might seem a bit strange to study an ancient art in this era of guns and bombs, many of the old ryu have techniques that are directly applicable to modern combat. This is especially true of many schools of jujutsu. Modern judo and aikido have been purged of most of their most deadly techniques in an effort to limit student injuries. Unfortun-ately, it is these techniques that the modern soldier or policeman needs the most. In addition to the techniques of war, traditional arts tend to maintain the spirit of the warrior. This is also very attractive to a soldier or policeman. The student of bujutsu as combat has little interest in the lineage or the cultural aspects of his art. Neither does he see anything wrong in modifying the ryu (for example, substituting pistol-disarms for tanto-dori). This attitude tends, for some reason, to make the “culturalists” a little crazy. I’ve never understood this because all the traditional arts were, at one time, new and were created to fill a void in the existing combat methodology. I see nothing wrong with the combat approach to bujutsu for people, such as soldiers and policemen, who are engaged in actual combat on a regular basis. I do, however, have a problem with the people who study a bujutsu as combat who have no need for such an art. The problem with this group is that they never really get into the art. Combat bujutsu is a dangerous art to practice, which is why so many of the techniques were either modified or eliminated when creating the modern budo. As a result of this danger, many students of combat arts

tend to take a half-hearted approach to training. And, as a result, the ryu becomes something that has lost both its cultural heritage and its combat effectiveness. (Here’s a rule of thumb: If you study a combat art and don’t receive an injury serious enough to require professional medical attention at least once a year, you’re just playing at it.) Bujutsu as Budo The modern budo tend to be beautiful and, more so than you might think, effective. Unfortunately, they tend to be a little short on pain and terror. The average person thinks of these as things to be avoided so, obviously, both elements had to be removed (or, at least, greatly tempered) to make the arts attractive to the masses. Why should anyone want to feel pain or terror? Well, both tend to get your attention. They tend to get all of your attention. The first time you hear a razor-sharp sword hiss past your ear, you know that “this is NOT a game.” Many people find the intensity of will created by a traditional bujutsu to be totally addictive. For this group the bujutsu has become a budo. Not a budo as the term is commonly used (e.g., synonymous with sport or avoca-tion), but as a true method of personal development. Following the rule of “no pain, no gain,” they tend to push themselves, both mentally and physically, to the very edge during training. The bujutsu-as-budo group tend to maintain the cultural aspects of their art. They do this not because of any great interest in preserving a slice of Japanese culture, but simply because it works. I find it interesting to observe the differences in demonstrations by the culture and budo groups. If you look closely you will note that the practitioners of bujutsu-as-culture rarely show any expression when they practice their art: they tend to walk through kata and their kiai is forced (and often even comical). The students of bujutsu-as-budo, on the other hand, usually give the impression of being slightly insane. Actually, they are. By long and intensive training, they have mastered the ability to enter into a controlled state of violent schizophrenia at will.

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My Budo So, which of these groups do I fall into? Mostly the third, although I do share a bit of the philosophy of the first and second groups. I approach bujutsu as an unparalleled method of personal development. Over the years I have become totally addicted to the spiritual high derived from executing a technique properly and couldn’t quit now even if I wanted to. If I had to define the goal of my art in a single sentence, it would be this: “To develop a powerful, focused, and dynamic spirit.” To me, everything else is secondary to this goal. As for the cultural heritage, I could care less about preserving any aspect of Japanese culture. I only maintain those cultural aspects of bujutsu that enhance the art. Some examples of this are: Occasionally eating in a Japanese-style restaurant in order to develop a feel for the roots of idori (seated) techniques; training in kimono from time to time in order to understand certain subtle moves in kata; studying enough of the language to understand the true meanings of the names of techniques. Technically, I tend to be very conservative and rarely change any technique, even when I don’t like it. There are some exceptions to this, the most notable of which is my present method of teaching ukemi. This represents a radical change from the way I learned (by getting thrown), and it is even a complete reversal of the way I used to teach it (rolls before breakfalls). Of course, now I can teach a first-day white-belt what used to be considered brown-belt-level ukemi in 20 minutes. As for those people who say that a gaijin has no real right to even be teaching a classical Japanese martial art, much less changing or eliminating anything (either cultural or technical) pertaining to it, I would respond, “When the Japanese stop teaching, and changing, American baseball, I will stop teaching bujutsu.” When it comes to the combat aspects of bujutsu, I am not so vain as to think I’m still a match for the young studs half my age. There’s a reason for modern armies being composed of teenagers: they are the only people with bodies capable of handling the stress of combat. (They are also dumb enough to think war is glorious.) I’m honest enough to admit that what appears to be speed when I execute a technique is actually just good timing, and what

others perceive as endurance is really a matter of learning how to pace myself. But, I still find that there is a great need for combat realism in my budo. This is, in many cases, no more than an equivalence to using a man-shaped target instead of a bull’s eye on a combat pistol range. Both targets may be of paper, but the silhouette of a person tends to remind one of what the weapon is really for. Although I will practice (and teach) many techniques as nothing more than exercises, and others just because they look pretty or are strange enough to be interesting, I need the knowledge that there is some real physical danger involved, either to my partner or myself, just to keep from getting stale. I also find that the military aspects of combat bujutsu are an absolute necessity. A Japanese martial art, no matter what the type or philosophy, was originally created by and for the samurai. And the samurai were soldiers. I just can’t imagine anyone penetrating very deeply into any bujutsu unless he has mastered the military mind-set. Armies, throughout history, have spent a seemingly inordinate amount of time teaching soldiers to stand in straight lines, polish their equipment, care for their uniforms, and perform on command. If it wasn’t really necessary, they would not have spent the time and money; they would have bought more guns.

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To me, a proper haircut and well-polished shoes (or a starched hakama) are just as much a part of bujutsu as a proper technique. (And, yes, my closet would not seem out of place in a Marine barracks: the shoes are all shined and in a neat line; the shirts arranged by color and style.) What My Budo is Not I have mentioned, when discussing the first three groups, what tends to upset them, so it seems only right to conclude this article with a list of a few of the things that make me climb the walls. (Strange, but the older I get the longer the list becomes.)

• Students who are not serious about their art. If you don’t feel the urge to dedicate yourself to your studies, stay home and watch television.

• Senior students who look like they would feel more at home at a rock concert than in a corporate board-room. The samurai were the ruling class of Japan; if you want to be a modern samurai, you should at least look like you are a member of the ruling establishment of this country.

• Escapists. All too many students use the martial arts as an escape from reality. My budo is not supposed to be a way to get away from the real world, but a way to make the real world better.

• Lack of kiai. As previously stated, the primary purpose of my budo is the development of a strong spirit. Weak kiai is a manifestation of a spirit held in check, and indicates a person who has missed the point of it all.

• Juniors who want to be seniors. At its best, seniority sucks.

• Seniors who forget how they got to be senior. Mostly it’s just a process of getting old, and anyone can do that.

• Uniforms that aren’t uniform. Individual variations, including different brands of zori, destroy the idea of it all.

• Students who rush through the basics to get to the neat (advanced) techniques. The basics ARE bujutsu.